


Swords and Successions

by pantswarrior



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:12:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly everyone took up a new role at the end of the war, in place of another who had previously filled it. Of course, when embarking on a new path, it is wise to arm oneself. Series of ficbits about multiple characters, and how they fought their way into their new positions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Basch

They had been much alike, as the current situation attested to, but the two of them had also been very different. Both had taken to combat with an uncanny instinct, formidable with any weapon at all, or with none. When offered the luxury of choosing, however, Basch had chosen heavy weapons, usually one-handed - swords, hammers, axes - and a shield. Noah had claimed no need for a shield, for he gravitated towards light weapons that could be wielded as their own defense - twin swords, spears, staves.

Perhaps this was the reason for Basch's difficulty now, as he stood in the roped-off arena beside the barracks in the early hours of the morning, wrestling with the unwieldy divided staff while no one was awake to bear witness. There had been no need for him to use it as of yet, a fortnight into his new appointment, and he counted it a blessing. The balance was odd when used as a staff, he was still puzzling out how best to take advantage of the unusual shapes of the blades when separated - and as for the separation, it sometimes was triggered accidentally, yet sometimes he could not find the catch upon the grip when he tried. It could not be said that Basch was an impatient man, however; he had time to learn, and so he would.

Even caught up in the routines he had devised for practice, reminding himself to be aware of the differences between the swords and the heavier weapons he favored, muted footsteps in the dust of the yard caught his attention at once, and he turned. Someone was indeed awake to watch, and watch he did, standing in the shadows beside the ropes. "Your excellency," Basch acknowledged, bowing his head respectfully as he lowered the weapons. The minutiae of the accent were less difficult than those of the staff's components. "Is there something I might assist you with?"

Larsa shook his head. "Not at all - I simply could not sleep, and I thought to find where you had disappeared to at such an hour."

Basch looked more closely in the boy's direction and confirmed something. "You are alone," he observed, and his tongue lapsed back into the Dalmasca-tinged sound to which it was accustomed.

The boy smiled faintly. "I have always been able to escape the watchful eyes of my protectors when I wished. Aside from you," he added, and then softer, "and your brother. You have that in common."

Kindness or admittance - Basch was not sure, but he chose to assume the former as he stepped to the lines. "Tell me," he asked, a wry edge further coloring his voice, "was my brother ever so clumsy with these weapons as I?"

"I could not say - he came to us when I was very young."

Of course. "...I had forgotten your age," Basch admitted, gruff but amused. How could he forget, when looking so far down to speak?

"It may have been only my youth and inexperience," Larsa mused, looking up to him thoughtfully, "but Judge Gabranth seemed always to be skilled in any weapon he might encounter. I expect, however, that when he first was appointed, he had to accustom himself as you do now. I have no doubt that you will be just as skilled, and in so short a time that I shall not remember when you were not."

Basch was not so sure, but he appreciated the sentiment.


	2. Vaan and Penelo

"Not again," Vaan groaned as he raised his hands and turned to face the man who had a knife to his back - now to his gut. "Look - I'm not who you think. Do I _look_ like him?"

"Never seen 'im," said the man, and his companions who had surrounded Vaan as he exited the tavern nodded their assent. "But we've all seen 'is ship. Was you who landed it at the aerodrome."

"If I was really Balthier," Vaan reasoned, "would I be so stupid as to show myself like that, walking out of an airship everyone knows? Balthier's a _lot_ smarter than that, or the bounty would've been collected a long time ago."

"Smart enough to call 'imself stupid, maybe," the man sneered, and his companions snickered behind their own raised weapons. "Even if you weren't 'im, it's you flying 'is ship, so you know 'im - and you'll be coming with us."

"I can't believe this," Vaan grumbled, rolling his eyes as he let the man prod him in the direction of... wherever this bunch was trying to take him, into an alley. This had happened twice before, and although he and Penelo had always managed to get out of it by waiting for an opening, it was really getting annoying. "Okay, honestly? He's _dead_. ...He was killed during the last battle of the war." Vaan had denied it for a long time, and still hated having to admit it.

Before he could say anything more, however, there was a gasp from somewhere behind him, and a thud as he and the others turned to look - at the ruffian who had just toppled over, clutching at his shoulder. Much like the man's shoulder, the crowd was now parted along the long, slightly curved blade of a sword. The one who held it was in the mouth of the alley, silhouetted against the light from the street beyond, and Vaan caught his breath. He'd insisted for months, despite all odds, but to actually _see_ the slim figure standing there, long ears upwards and alert...

"The boy may be stupid, as he said," came the voice, with an accent that sounded even more awkward than Vaan remembered it sounding, "but he is no teller of tales. I suggest you leave him be."

Tales of the viera's ferocity must have spread, for the small gang scattered, running past him down the alley. "Wow," Vaan remarked, glancing over his shoulder at them as the footsteps faded away. "Good timing. Hey - it's really good to see you again, but do you know if Penelo's okay? These guys might have had friends..."

"You really _are_ stupid, Vaan," came the voice again, this time without the accent, and Vaan blinked, stepping closer to get a better look. ...Fran wasn't that short, and he'd never seen her hair in... ...Oh. "We'd better start keeping the Strahl away from the aerodromes until we figure out what's wrong with the cloaking device."

"Uh. Yeah, I guess so."

"Honestly," Penelo said, exasperated, as she removed the two chocobo tailfeathers from her hair. "These guys had never seen either me _or_ Fran before, so I wouldn't expect them to know the difference - but you?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Vaan muttered, shuffling along after her on their way out of the alley.

"My viera accent isn't even very good."

"Well, I could never make sense of her accent anyway."

"Some leading man you are."

"I know, I know," he sighed, his eyes on the pavement. Balthier never would've let himself be trapped like this. "Sorry. I know I'm... not really on his level." The months after they'd inherited the ship had taught him this lesson over and over.

He looked up when her hand rested on his shoulder, and found her smiling at him. "It's okay, Vaan. We're new to this sky pirating thing. And we're _not_ Balthier and Fran." She shrugged a little. "As ourselves, though? I think we're just fine."


	3. Larsa

The first time an assassin had found his way into the imperial palace, Larsa was unaware until the following morning. He was then furious with Zargabaath - not because it had been kept from him, not because an intruder had penetrated the defenses that the senior Judge Magister was now responsible for, but because the man had been executed immediately upon his admission of ill intention. Though it was the way things had been under his father's rule and his brother's, this was not the way _his_ administration was to deal with dissension.

After much argument (some of it, on the subject of the weight of obedience against pragmatism, taking place between his Judges Magister while they thought him asleep in his chambers), the second assassin was brought to Larsa directly only a few weeks later, secured with bonds both magical and physical, under escort with a dispatch of judges and Zargabaath himself. Upon questioning the man, asking him _why_ , Larsa learned that he considered himself a patriot - that he understood the need for war as Emperors Gramis and Vayne had, that it was better for these archaic, less developed small kingdoms to have a secure government and the advanced civilization of the Archadian empire than to founder on their own. Larsa told him, in truth, that he agreed. "However, I believe that forcing other lands to accept our ways will only cause them to become bitter. I would hold out my hand as a friend, offering assistance, rather than using that same hand to point my sword." And with that, he instructed a startled Zargabaath to take the assassin outside the palace, and release him. Why, he asked Zargabaath later, would he execute a man who was thinking about what would be best for Ivalice, as he himself did? When this man returned to his comrades, perhaps a lesson would be learned from his mercy, rather than bitterness strengthened by death.

The third assassin was the same as the second, and brought assistance. With some reluctance, Larsa ordered them thrown in prison. After questioning, with much the same result, he did the same for the fourth at once.

The fifth, within the space of a year, was once again brought to Larsa, but not so subdued by his bonds as the second had been; the child emperor was soft, he snarled, and the fact that he would not destroy those who would take his life proved that he had not the nerve to defend Archadia. "Is that what the lot of you have been trying to accomplish?" Larsa asked him sadly as he stepped forward. "A sign? A show of strength? Would that give your fellow patriots confidence?"

"Lord Larsa, may it be upon me," Zargabaath implored him. "I am your sword, as I was your father's and your brother's. All know this." The newest Judge Gabranth remained silent, for which Larsa was grateful. Joyeuse was in his chambers rather than at his belt, and so he asked a shortsword from one of the lesser ranking judges.

Larsa had been surrounded by a guard all his life. He had seen men killed many a time, sometimes for his sake. Although he had slain monsters, and raised his sword to defend himself and the people of Ivalice - with such a faithful and efficient entourage, he had never killed a man himself. " _I_ am the one who must defend Archadia," he replied, bringing the sword level. "Not my sword. I would choose to exercise my power otherwise, yet I am capable. Though my brother went beyond necessity, and indeed beyond reproach, I have always known what he was trying to teach me."

It was not the gurgle in the assassin's throat that haunted him at night, nor the eyes that grew so cold and glassy, nor the thick feel of flesh resisting the steel's intrusion. It was the fact that it had been so simple. He prayed to the gods that _this_ was not the lesson which Vayne had wanted him to learn.


	4. Ashe

The royal crown had been taken from Raminas's head as he sat slumped in his chair in Nalbina, and held in Archades ever since. Larsa had assured Ashe, during one of the diplomatic meetings that followed the war's end, that it would be returned to Rabanastre as quickly as they could arrange for a transport both worthy and secure. Ashe bid him wait - for she was having a certain amount of difficulty with the specifics of the coronation, she admitted.

The traditional Dalmascan coronation ceremony was formal, and very, very specific. Under ordinary circumstances, the crown would be brought forth by the one who had kept it since the previous monarch's death or deposition, the king or queen's most faithful servant. The one to be crowned would kneel in humility and respect for those who so offered them this honor as the crown was placed. This, Ashe felt, was not appropriate for their current situation. Larsa agreed, also having been averse to any idea of taking part in the coronation for precisely the same reasons - it would imply that she was queen because he had willed it so, rather than because the crown was hers to begin with. He was there to observe and to wish her well only, as the crown had never belonged to Archadia.

They discussed possibilities for some time that night. The most faithful of her father's servants had died with him... all except one, but few there were who knew of the exception. It was this, however, which gave Larsa an idea, and Ashe agreed, making a few changes of her own.

Beneath the eyes of her nation, and the heads of several neighboring states, Ashe watched as the man clad in black armor approached the dais, carrying her father's crown. It had been he who stole the crown from King Raminas, after all.

Her own changes came into play then, for she did not kneel. Instead, it was Judge Gabranth who knelt at her feet - and she herself, carrying sword rather than scepter, who took the crown and lifted it to her own head, to the surprise and applause of those present who knew the ceremony.

As for the queen, her eyes were downward cast, looking upon the helmet she had once so loathed. When it tilted upwards, the afternoon sunlight shone through the sighthole for a moment on a pale brow, split and scarred, and she smiled at the thought that none but they knew that the ceremony was perfectly fitting in the old way as well as the new.


End file.
